Outside The Wall
A Companion Story to Pink Floyd's "The Wall"
Story written by K**** B***
Original characters by Roger Waters
"And if I'm in I'll tell you what's behind the wall…"
The phone rang.
"Well?" he said eventually when it had shown no signs of stopping, looking her in the eye. She sat up.
"As I recall, you were the one who told me to leave it off the hook. What makes you think I'm answering it now?"
He smiled and shrugged, wrapping an arm loosely around her. But the phone continued to resound in her ears. Struggling out of his embrace, she reached out to the bedside table and plucked it out of the cradle. "Hello?"
As the person on the other end spoke, her expression changed from mild peace to confusion, and finally to horror. "WHAT?"
He was watching her anxiously. She couldn't bring her eyes to meet his. A moment later she said goodbye and hung up.
"What is it?" She shook her head and rolled out of bed, searching for her clothes.
"What's going on?" he persisted, reaching out to her. She shook him off.
"I'm sorry… this was a mistake. You don't need to be dragged into my life. I have to go."
Fully dressed, she rushed to the front room, preparing to leave. He followed her, wearing nothing.
"Will I see you again?"
She paused in her movements to gaze softly at him. Oh, how irresistible new love was. But it was false love, she knew. Her priorities lay elsewhere, though she'd tried so hard to forget them.
"I don't think so." She tried to answer as gently as she could. "I'm married."
His eyes flashed, but he didn't protest.
"Get your things and go. I'll be locking the house soon."
Outside the stadium, all was chaos. Very well-organized chaos. The fans were rioting, screaming for their rock star savior to get back on stage where he belonged. After he had made a brief appearance and run off again, the crowd was past the point of reason. They didn't want any fanatic wannabes, nor spineless opening acts. They wanted Pink.
As the cops were called in to control them and the manager exploded with fury, one man walked unnoticed in the shadowy halls. He was the night stalker, the one solitary security guard who worked overtime at the stadium. He pushed his way into the restrooms, tapping on the stall doors to see if anyone was hiding there- and quickly became aware of a noise. The sound of heavy, labored breathing bounced off the spacious walls. The guard, whose hearing had become quite acute from all the nights spent alone in the stadium, detected exactly which stall it was coming from and pushed the door open.
A man lay sprawled out on the cool, damp floor, his arms locked around himself. He didn't appear to be conscious. The guard knelt down and fingered the man's pulse. It was weakening by the minute. Frightened, the guard abandoned his original task and called for help with his walkie-talkie. He didn't realize that the man he had just discovered was the only one who could fill the audience's needs. If he had realized it, perhaps he wouldn't have been so hasty to call.
The hospital looked gray and bleak as she climbed out of the taxi to stare at the building before her. A deep chill of foreboding entered her veins. She didn't want to do this today. She didn't want to do this again, ever. But it was her sense of duty that called her forth.
The blandness continued on the inside of the hospital. She waited in line for the receptionist, noticing that this waiting room could be as much for a lawyer as it was for a hospital. Not one person talked to another person. They all sat with grieving eyes and clenched hands and blank, staring gazes. They reminded her of the person she was here to see. She swallowed back her terror, fought her running-away instinct. The receptionist called her forth in an oddly cheery tone. Maybe she was as unsettled as her.
She wound through the corridors, following a nurse, and observed how the nurse didn't say anything either, other than a brisk "Follow me." She supposed the hospital staff were so uptight because they had to repress the emotion of reuniting families. It didn't make their jobs any easier. Once again, her thoughts turned onto the patient she was here to see. She wished she knew exactly what was wrong with him. She wished she didn't have to see for herself.
The nurse opened the door for her. That was nice. She stepped in hesitantly, cautiously, unsure of what she going to see. The room was dim. A silent, prone form was stretched out on the bed, breathing raspily.
She took a few more steps forward and peered down at him. The beating of his heart was reported on the beeping monitor at his bedside, indicating no abnormalities. It confused her. She leaned in and brushed his forehead gently with her fingertips. He didn't respond.
He had cut his hair! Where was that brown bush that she used to love to run her fingers through, before he had pulled away? And where were his eyebrows? What had he done to himself?
"So… what's wrong with him?" Her voice was distressed. She didn't like the way it sounded.
"We don't know," the nurse replied simply. "He was found in this state, and hasn't snapped out of it for as long as we've kept him here. Truly, there's nothing wrong with him- he's not even in a coma, as far as we can tell. It seems to be a sort of never-ending sleep."
A never-ending sleep. She didn't tell the nurse that she was familiar with that state. She stared down at the patient, and ignored the sudden prickly sting of tears as her eyes filled up.
Damn you, Pink. She should have never, ever let this happen.
Pain.
That was the first sensation he registered. Pain, both mental and physical and just as gut-wrenching both ways. The sleep should be dulling it. He should have been sinking into himself to get away from it. But there was nothing to hide behind. The pain ravaged his body, and he couldn't cry out for help.
Help me I'm dying God it hurts
Worse than the pain was the nothingness- the lack of comfort and shelter. He had nothing to hold on to, nothing to hope for. It was all gone. He called desperately in his mind, praying that someone would answer. And in time, someone did.
"Godammit, Pink, please wake up… I want to go home…"
That voice… He shied away from that voice immediately. The scorpion had spoken with a voice like that. He knew she wasn't going to help him.
Is there anybody out there? How tiring it was to even ask that.
At once he realized that maybe he didn't want to know the answer. There was someone out there, but she would only make the pain worse. However bad it was in here, it would all grow worse out there. He floated, searching for something to retreat into, and finally found his memories.